Томас Гент (Thomas Gent)

Night

Now when dun Night her shadowy veil has spread,
  See want and infamy as forth they come,
  Lead their wan daughter from her branded home,
To woo the stranger for unhallow'd bread.
Poor outcast! o'er thy sickly-tinted cheek
  And half-clad form, what havock want hath made;
  And the sweet lustre of thine eye doth fade,
And all thy soul's sad sorrow seems to speak.
O miserable state! compell'd to wear
  The wooing smile, as on thy aching breast
  Some wretch reclines, who feeling ne'er possess'd;
Thy poor heart bursting with the stifled tear!
Oh, GOD OF MERCY! bid her woes subside,
And be to her a friend, who hath no friend beside.